


The Way Home

by dustjacketduck



Category: Knights of the Borrowed Dark Series - Dave Rudden
Genre: Gen, Major Spoilers, Post-Book One, this is the first work for the fandom and i am so stressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9969047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustjacketduck/pseuds/dustjacketduck
Summary: The trip back to Seraphim Row was long and tiring.





	

They were beyond exhausted by the time their walk led them to a mainland city.

The sun had long since risen, flooding them with bright, encouraging light. It had started raining again, although it was just a light drizzle and they had found refuge in a covered bus stop. Denizen and Abigail were fighting to keep themselves from falling asleep, and Grey seemed to be barely conscious, as though pain alone was keeping him grounded.

Vivian waited out by the curb.

After what felt like an eternity, she managed to hail a taxi. Vivian opened the door and leaned in, placing a foot firmly on the floor of the vehicle.

“There are four of us. We need to--”

She watched as the taxi driver glanced at her, taking in the ruined, stained armor, the bruises, the hammer at her waist. Then his eyes flicked to the shelter behind her, where her companions rested on a bench inside: two children, bloodied and bruised and half-asleep, and a man, twitching and moaning and grinning.

The driver settled anxiously back in his seat, hands tightening on the steering wheel and feet tense and poised to hit the gas and bolt. “What happened to you all?”

Vivian didn't budge. “I will pay you enough to never ask that question again, or ever mention this to anybody, but right now we need to get back to Dublin.”

“Ma’am, I'm not sure I'm the right person for you to go to. You and your friends look more like you need to get to a hospital or something. There's one near here, I think--it's just... um…”

She fixed him with a glare and he squirmed. “We will not hurt you, if that's what you're thinking.” They had just saved the world; his obvious assumption that they had ill intent seemed almost laughable to her.

After a long moment, he sighed nervously, seeming to understand that he would not win this battle.

“Fine,” he said. “Get in.”

So they did. Vivian took the front seat, naturally, and the others helped each other awkwardly clamber in back, height designating Denizen to be the one shoved in the middle.

The taxi began to move. The driver tried to make small talk initially--her name, the kids’ names, what they were doing way out here, barely-concealed pleas for an explanation of what had happened--but Vivian wasn't interested, and just glared until he stopped. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the seat back. God, she was so tired.

The kids were out like lights--Abigail first, Denizen a while later. He wanted to talk more, that much she could see for sure, and tried to stave off sleep for as long as possible before finally submitting to the overwhelming exhaustion.

She tried to ignore Grey, but he was right behind her, so that was nearly impossible. She could hear the vibrations as the fingers of his good hand drummed against the door; the way the seat crinkled whenever he shifted; his muffled whimpers, lost and broken and agonizing.

It was the sound of despair, and he was drowning in it.

It was pathetic, and infuriatingly, disgustingly, she understood why. She wanted nothing more than to stay mad at him until the day she died, to hate him with everything she was worth. After all, he'd betrayed them, tried to kill her, hurt Denizen. She was in the right here.

But, _by God_ , he made it hard.

Mostly, though… she couldn't stop thinking. About Chris, about Lisa, about Ade. What would have happened to them if they'd managed to survive? Would this have been their fate? This living nightmare, of losing control of their bodies, of monsters invading their minds?

Was this worse?

She closed that part of herself off, blocking those dangerously raw thoughts out before they could grow, and instead began watching her son out of the rear-view mirror.

Denizen’s head was lolled forward, unwilling to lean on anything, and he swayed with the movements of the car. He slept soundly, if not a little troubled, his breathing soft and gentle. She felt a surge of affection and love spread through her, warm and beautiful. Her face twitched into a tiny, hesitant smile.

It felt nice.

*    *    *

It was well past noon when they got back to Seraphim Row. Darcie rushed out almost instantly; she probably hadn't slept much, either, waiting restlessly for their return. Vivian cut her off before she could even begin speaking.

“Get Abigail to her room.”

Darcie nodded and ran around to the other side of the car, picking up the younger girl with great effort and carrying her inside.

The driver told Vivian the balance and she nodded, before opening the door to fetch Grey.

He looked delirious. She pulled him up and, as he reluctantly settled into a staggering gait beside her, began feeling those dull aches of hate, pity, care. He was still so painfully young, wasn't he?

After a moment, she realized he was mumbling something. She ignored it, but then he slowed down, repeating the words over and over until they became unavoidably coherent: “I'm sorry.”

Her grip tightened ever so slightly.

She came back out of the house a few minutes later and paid the driver. Then she scooped Denizen up into her arms.

He was so small--short and thin and light. Dirt smeared across his arms and the front of his clothes.

This was the first time in eleven years she'd held her son like this, she realized-- _truly_ held him. When he'd first come to Seraphim Row, she couldn't bear looking at him; now, she couldn't bear looking away.

She picked her way through the remains of the mansion and carried him to his room, tucking him into bed. Then she hesitated.

He'd mentioned that Susan used to sing to him. Should _she_ try to sing to him? Would he like that? Would that be weird?

Not that she really knew any songs, anyway. And her voice probably wouldn't sound too good, either. She'd had far more important things to worry about than maintaining a pretty singing voice.

In the end, Vivian just stroked his hair a little, brushed a patch of mud from off his cheek with her thumb, and slipped out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m half-excited, half-nervous to be posting this, but I love the book so much, and it feels good to write something for it!
> 
> This idea, for what might have happened immediately after the book ended, has actually been in my head for a while, and I really like how I wrote it.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, keep in mind that this was written before _The Forever Court_ came out, so there are a few inaccuracies. I’m okay with that.


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